Pride of wordshttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com
ExpressionsSat, 11 Nov 2017 20:54:19 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngPride of wordshttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com
Biriyani again! – a 120 years old Biriyani shackhttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/18/biriyani-again-a-120-years-old-biriyani-shack/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/18/biriyani-again-a-120-years-old-biriyani-shack/#respondSun, 17 Sep 2017 18:31:54 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=697]]>When I heard — Dhadi Biriyani, I really didn’t know what to think. But once again, Pollachi’s local treat, comes with a story and great taste.

]]>https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/18/biriyani-again-a-120-years-old-biriyani-shack/feed/0prideofwords12593617_10209905430863010_1116472584233845333_o-1170x780The best Indian snack corner – Udumalpethttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/the-best-indian-snack-corner-udumalpet/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/the-best-indian-snack-corner-udumalpet/#respondSun, 17 Sep 2017 18:14:03 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=682Continue reading The best Indian snack corner – Udumalpet]]>It was simply the best Indian snack corner I’ve been to. With a tummy bursting full, I thought I am not going to be able to eat a morsel more despite doing an hour long journey from Pollachi just to visit this snack place. Yet, I ate 12 Thattu Vadai Sets and Masala pori. Drank some Ilaneer Sherbet and packed some more to carry home. RGS Beeda Stall, is what they call their quaint old little shop.

]]>https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/the-best-indian-snack-corner-udumalpet/feed/0prideofwords17310368_10212020145689559_682010656349618379_o-1170x780Naadi – A theatre play in Pollachihttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/naadi-a-theatre-play-in-pollachi/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/naadi-a-theatre-play-in-pollachi/#respondSun, 17 Sep 2017 16:13:42 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=674]]>It was one of a kind experience to watch a simple theatre play sitting under the stars in a farm in Pollachi. Thank you Papyrus for this beautiful opportunity.

]]>https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/naadi-a-theatre-play-in-pollachi/feed/0prideofwords2017-07-31-20-26-56-421Trees: A readinghttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/trees-a-reading/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/trees-a-reading/#respondSun, 17 Sep 2017 13:49:56 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=668Continue reading Trees: A reading]]>I was looking up for some reading based on trees to take to my middle school children at school. I stumbled upon this beautiful piece of writing.

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”
― Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

]]>https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/09/17/trees-a-reading/feed/0prideofwordsDenialhttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/04/02/denial/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/04/02/denial/#respondSun, 02 Apr 2017 16:14:33 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=666Continue reading Denial]]>There is light in your eyes
Silence on your lips
Possibility of a smile
May be even a few words
Of love, hope, friendship, humour…
Your fingers move
Strands of hair grow
From a million miles away
I can feel you be
You are there
There is warmth in your blood
Colour in your flesh
There is that distant place
Where your feet can carry you
There is that new flower
You may like its scent
I heard a new story
You may think it’s good
When there is war
You may wish for peace
There is unrest
You may know why
I want to find my way
You may know how
Someone writes a song
Someone has a tune
You may sing
Hum…
You may ‘be’
You may become…
I can see it all
In this almost alive picture

In one minute, in one second
In the time one takes to merely inhale
How could you “not be”?
What will I become?

—- Shrinithi Mahendran

]]>https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/04/02/denial/feed/0prideofwordsCapturing Relationshipshttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/capturing-relationships/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/capturing-relationships/#respondSat, 18 Feb 2017 07:50:59 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=626Continue reading Capturing Relationships]]>I spent an evening at Juhu Beach, Mumbai – just me and my camera. Unlike the silent beaches back home where I sit and watch the waves for hours together, Juhu was bustling with people – tourists, hawkers, and locals. The beach was extremely littered and dirty. People were everywhere taking pictures and playing in the beach. The sunset was beautiful and the colour on the water and on people’s face turned orange and for a minute, I could hear only the waves. A moment in my own world.

Then I looked around and saw hundreds of people, each in their own world with their loved ones. The relationship between them and the beach was wonderful. I chose my subjects and captured the happiness, bonding and each of their lives in frames.

Through rough tide and low tide…

Thank you for holding me… Thank you for letting go… you are the bravest hero daddy…

I am right here.. right beside you.. and we’ll take the waves together little girl…

Immersed in the sea of thoughts… soaked in your love…

Let’s take a stroll and grow up together…

Let me dream with you…let me into your little big world…

I can give life, I can destroy… I can be calm, I can be fierce…

Ready? Catch the waves and pocket them son!

Solitude… Serendipity… The Sea…

This is where I begin… This is where I end… This is where I grow… Play with me while I am at the shore…

]]>https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/capturing-relationships/feed/0prideofwordswhatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-13-01-amwhatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-01-00-am-8whatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-01-00-am-7whatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-01-00-am-6whatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-01-00-am-3whatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-02-33-amwhatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-01-00-am-5whatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-01-00-am-1whatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-01-00-am-4whatsapp-image-2017-02-15-at-8-01-00-am-2I love you, I mumblehttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/i-love-you-i-mumble/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/i-love-you-i-mumble/#respondSat, 18 Feb 2017 06:28:57 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=622Continue reading I love you, I mumble]]>Flying above the clouds
Through the window, eyes see
A beat, a thought, a smile
Hearts swindle

Take a handful of the fluffy white
Put em against m’ cheeks
Pack some, keep ‘em close
Happiness in a bundle!

In the wonderland,
in a faraway world
these clouds walk with me
If not, I grumble.

Here, I leave them behind.
With a half-smile, I know it will rain.
When it does rain, I look up
I love you, I mumble.

—- Shrinithi Mahendran

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https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/i-love-you-i-mumble/feed/0prideofwordsWash awayhttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/wash-away/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/wash-away/#respondSat, 18 Feb 2017 06:20:51 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=619]]>Rolling over from the sea
Fierce like the wildest boar
Speaking to the unknown
Many words that rise and fall
You are solace
You are turmoil
How many stories have you heard?
How many questions have you answered?
My heart beckons to your cradle song
Wash away my castles before long

—- Shrinithi Mahendran

PC: Shrinithi Mahendran

]]>https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/18/wash-away/feed/0prideofwordsPC: Shrinithi MahendranSome more Biriyani from Pollachihttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/16/some-more-biriyani-from-pollachi/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/16/some-more-biriyani-from-pollachi/#respondThu, 16 Feb 2017 06:32:17 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=617]]>We went on yet another filling trip to Pollachi. Writing food articles are as fun as it is challenging.

I thank the Pollachi Papyrus team for continuing the series and filling my plate with more write ups (and Biriyani of course!).

]]>https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2017/02/16/some-more-biriyani-from-pollachi/feed/0prideofwordsPC: Keerthana BalajiSathiya Kavignan – Velliangattanhttps://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2016/04/20/sathiya-kavignan-velliangattan/
https://prideofwords.wordpress.com/2016/04/20/sathiya-kavignan-velliangattan/#commentsWed, 20 Apr 2016 14:11:08 +0000http://prideofwords.wordpress.com/?p=565Continue reading Sathiya Kavignan – Velliangattan]]>When someone asks me why I want to be a writer, I know it is my life’s calling. But what could have made me tell I wanted to be a writer when I was barely ten years old? Unless it ran in my blood, how did I hold on to my dream – a dream that I dreamed as a child?

I am always proud and equally humbled down when I call myself the great grand daughter of a poet. He lived from 1904 – 1991. His name, Velliangattan ( it is his pen name, he named himself after his village). My father often says that he gets worried thinking if I took, more than my flair for writing, after him. The poet’s ideals were pretty much of a nonconformist’s.

I have already posted my article on him that appeared in The Hindu, Coimbatore (Metroplus) – follow the link to find the article.

This post is to present the documentary on my great grandfather, I directed. It was a pleasure working with my team who showed keen interest in the work despite very pressing project deadlines. I have to thank my team, also my classmates Navaneeth, Amir, Shiyam, Anusha and Nikitha for their support. Co-ordinating the crew throughout the project, writing the script for the documentary and working on the screenplay which is very vital to the success of a documentary has given me a level of satisfaction in calling myself his grand daughter. I am happy I finally brought it out.

I have to thank my grandmom. The great poet would be no where if not for her. The documentary is not only an account of my great grandfather’s life as a poet and the journey of his writings, but also a record of the inspiring effort of this old woman who has stood up to her cause defying age and education as a barrier.

I thank the writers and literary legends of Coimbatore who welcomed my efforts and gave me appointment to record their interviews. I thank Puviyarasu sir, Nanjil Nadan sir, Marabin Maindhan Muthaya sir, Senthalai Gowthaman sir, C.R.Elangovan sir for their precious time.

I named the documentary Sathiya Kavignan (poet of truth) because the poet lived by the truth he wrote.

Do watch the documentary and give your feedback. I humbly ask you to share the link because we want to rediscover this great poet of Coimbatore. The film is rather a small tribute compared to the quality of his life.